


Who Am I, Darling, To You?

by AvaRosier



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern Westeros, marriage laws
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sansa received her names on a Tuesday.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>All of Westeros had been thrown into a tizzy six months ago when the new Queen had announced that the far-reaching upheaval of the recent two wars necessitated her bringing back the Marriage Laws in order to usher in a new peace and reverse the declining birth rate. While family-arranged marriages weren't entirely uncommon nowadays, plenty felt like government-assigned spouses were a step backwards instead of a step forwards. Privately, Sansa could see the wisdom in doing away with the sects and social hierarchies that had led to war and devastation, but she didn't exactly relish how they'd affect her.</p><p>
  <b>Note: on temporary hiatus so the author can write Halloween themed fics during the month of October.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Sansa received her names on a Tuesday.

She came home from a long, grueling day at the design studio, fingers stiff and shoulders aching from hours spent helping her boss get pieces ready for the show coming up in two weeks' time. Sansa may work out frequently, but the climb up the stairs to her second-floor studio flat seemed too gargantuan an effort tonight. It had to be half past eight already and all she could think about was reheating last night's takeout and watching another episode of Toddlers & Tiaras (or seven). Once inside, she dumped her bags near the door then threw herself onto her small sofa so she could thumb through the stack of mail she'd just collected. She recognized the royal stamp in the upper right-hand corner and just _knew_.

All of Westeros had been thrown into a tizzy six months ago when the new Queen had announced that the far-reaching upheaval of the recent two wars necessitated her bringing back the Marriage Laws in order to usher in a new peace and reverse the declining birth rate. While family-arranged marriages weren't entirely uncommon nowadays, plenty felt like government-assigned spouses were a step backwards instead of a step forwards. Privately, Sansa could see the wisdom in doing away with the sects and social hierarchies that had led to war and devastation, but she didn't exactly relish how they'd affect her.

With a small sigh to steel herself, she shoved her thumb beneath the flap of the envelope, tearing it all the way across in order to access the single white sheet contained inside. She had three names to choose from:

 

_Harrold Hardyng_

_Willas Tyrell_

_Oberyn Martell_

 

Harry, she knew by reputation from her brother. He and Robb had been business majors at the same university. Well, Harry had been a 'business major', not that he was actually a good student who put in the effort; everybody knew he was going to get a high-paying job on nepotism alone. She also knew he was a serial womanizer.

No. Just _no_.

Honestly, she had no clue why Harry's name made it onto her list. Maybe it was more to do with him and what the analysts (who were influenced by money and power just like anybody else) thought would be good for _him_ than whether he would make Sansa a decent husband. Everybody affected by the Marriage Law had to go to two appointments with state-sanctioned psychologists who asked them questions upon questions about every conceivable topic, even the ones too embarrassing to discuss with a complete stranger. Sansa had gone in, received the standard reminder that her answers would determine her future happiness and that she should strive for candor in her responses, and so she had forced herself to be brutally honest.

Sometimes, humiliatingly so.

(They'd asked some very probing questions about her sex life and desires, but those had been a cakewalk compared to the questions about her previous relationships that she'd had to fight the urge to lie about.)

Willas was her friend Margaery's older brother. Sansa had heard plenty about Willas from his sister and...she didn't doubt he would be a decent and steady husband. He was handsome in that sort of bland way that makes a man not stand out much, with light brown hair and blue eyes like his sister's own. Surely, Sansa could grow to love him. If Willas was receiving a letter with her name on it, it wouldn't be long before Margaery was blowing up her phone about it.

As for the third and final name on the list, all Sansa could do was purse her lips and try to figure out why the name sounded so familiar. Flipping open her laptop, it took a minute for her to get to her browser page and google his name. Once the results came up, Sansa raised her eyebrows halfway to her hairline. Oberyn Martell was one of the top prosecutors in Westeros...she had probably seen his name in the newspapers over the years. Originally from Dorne, he currently resided in King's Landing where he practiced law. Looking at the articles written about him, Sansa could see that he had a reputation for utterly eviscerating defendants in the courtroom. And from what she saw, he usually went after the particularly heinous: rapists, murderers, privileged men who used their power to get away with crimes.

He was also seventeen years older than her.

Well, Willas was twelve years her senior and Harry only three, but... _still_. Sansa sighed and set her laptop down on the coffee table with a clatter. No use thinking any further about this on an empty stomach. She strode over to her fridge and grabbed last night's Lengii takeaway, shoving it into the microwave with a groan. No sooner had she finished her dinner than she was opening a bottle of wine and pouring herself a large glass, fully intending to go through the entire bottle that night.

Going to her 'office' area, which in her small flat was literally just the corner behind her couch, Sansa tugged a few sheets of crisp, white paper from the printer and brought it over to her coffee table where she sat down and began to scribble across the top: ' _Pros/Cons_ '. Lists were about putting things into perspective, and she needed plenty.

She was twenty-two years old, barely graduated from the Fashion Institute of the Reach, and only just settled into a fledgling career in the capitol. Willas, far as she knew, had just taken over as CEO of his family business in Highgarden and there was no question who would have to do the moving if they married. She wasn't even bothering to consider Harry, let alone moving up north to the Vale. She might be a Northern girl, and would always hold it close to her heart, but she had carved a life for herself in the South, in King's Landing. Where Oberyn resided.

Could she marry a man nearly old enough to be her father? And moreover, what would her family say if she did? Gods knew they already thought she had lousy taste in men she didn't need to be giving them more reason to think her judgment couldn't be trusted.

Sansa groaned and poured herself another glass. She wasn't obtuse, she could think back on her conversations with the psychologist and very clearly pinpoint which aspects might have made her a match for Oberyn. Glancing over at her laptop, still open to the google image results for her third assigned potential husband, Sansa could readily admit he was very handsome.

She was halfway through the third glass when she realized it really came down to a choice between what was safe and what was riskier but could potentially bring her the passionate joy she'd always dreamed of. However much she still placed value on what her family thought, she was an adult now. And Sansa was beginning to understand that adulthood meant having the guts to stand by the choices you made.

By the fourth glass, Sansa had resolved to go with her instinct on this one. She wasn't a naive seventeen year-old girl anymore. She may have made poor choices in the past but her wisdom was hard-won and her gut was telling her: _you know which man is the right choice_.

All she had to do was convince him to marry her.

 

 

No big deal.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She spent all of Wednesday throwing herself into work and lying to friends and family who asked her if she had received her letter yet. Apparently they'd begun going out this week, which was why people were having virtual meltdowns on social media. Sansa did, however, use the letter as a reason to beg off the rest of the week from her boss. She hadn't exactly been happy to, but everybody in Westeros had been preparing themselves for the upheaval that the Marriage Laws would bring, and so Cassandra had given her the time off.

“Well, I do know you won't let your work fall to the wayside, and you _are_ one of my best employees. Good luck I suppose,” she'd told Sansa, sounding like she was convincing herself it was okay to give Sansa the time off rather than complimenting her work ethic.

Having until Monday to...she doesn't know...get a man to agree to choose her? Get married? Sansa wasn't sure how she was going to swing this one. She'd made a list of reasons and arguments, not that she held out much hope that a seasoned lawyer like Oberyn Martell wouldn't be able to refute every single point.

That was the other thing: each person was going to receive three names. That meant there was no guarantee that Oberyn wouldn't find the other two names on his list more palatable if he was going to be forced to wed. They were probably closer to him in age, more sophisticated than she, and likely more established in their lives than a post-grad who still considered empty wine bottles on top of kitchen cabinets a valid design aesthetic.

At least she strung fairy lights around them, okay?

The point was, Sansa had to put on her big girl panties and not waste any time. So she headed down to Flea Bottom, to her favorite grunge-hipster/biker-gang neighborhood where she grabbed a table outside of a cafe and sat with her coffee and pain au chocolat as she tried to build up enough courage to punch in Oberyn's number and hit 'dial'. When she realized she had torn her pastry into flaky pieces more than she'd eaten it, Sansa sighed and made the call.

She'd begged a favor of Mr. Varys, one of Cassandra's favorite clients, who had the authority to get Oberyn's personal mobile number for Sansa. If she called his work number, it'd probably go to a receptionist desk. There was no way Sansa was going to have a receptionist walk into Oberyn's office and say something like: _“Sir, there's some woman on line 2 who says she wants to marry you_?”

The line rang once...twice...thrice... Sansa was _thissclose_ to chickening out and hitting 'end call' when there was a click from someone picking up. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“ _Since I don't recognize this number, I'm going to have to assume you plan to try to sell me something_.” His voice was deep and smooth as molasses as he continued with deceptive casualness. “ _I should inform you that not only am I a prosecutor, I'm a very bored one_.” Sansa tried not to shiver at the way Oberyn's voice rumbled with a thinly veiled threat towards the end of that sentence.

She cleared her throat. “Actually, I suppose I might be selling you something. My name is Sansa Stark.” There was silence on the other end of the line, making her newfound confidence falter a bit. “I don't know if you received your letter from the DMA-”

“ _I did- my apologies, Sansa, this is the most unexpected surprise_ ,” he interjected. Well, that was a positive sign, right? He didn't sound unhappy to be contacted by her. Oberyn continued speaking, “ _Though I'd be interested in knowing how you managed to obtain this number_.”

Sansa shrugged, even though he wouldn't be able to see it. “I know someone who knows people.”

“ _The lady likes her mystery, huh_?”

“The lady simply doesn't want someone to get in trouble for misuse of government resources,” she said primly. That got her a bark of laughter from Oberyn.

“ _Well we can't have that now, can we? Should I assume you're contacting me for the obvious reason_?”

“Yes, I thought I'd call and ask if you wanted to meet. I don't know any less awkward way to say I want to get to know you because there's a chance we might get married soon.”

“ _There's just no dancing around the topic, that's for sure_ ,” Oberyn agreed. “ _Are you free for dinner tonight_?”

“Mr. Martell,” she began.

“ _Call me Oberyn, please_.”

“Oberyn,” she acceded, enjoying the feel of his name on her tongue. “I pretty much have nothing but time. I took off work for the rest of the week.”

“ _Well in that case I know a lovely Myrish place over on Aegon's High Hill, with a great view of the Bay_ -”

Dread gripped Sansa then. She knew _exactly_ which place Oberyn was talking about, because Joffrey had used to take her there. His idea of showing off and flaunting his wealth. Sansa had always been acutely aware of the eyes of other people on them and therefore the meals had never been a pleasant experience for her.

“Uh- actually, could we go somewhere less populated?”

“ _Certainly. If you don't object, I could attempt to impress you with my cooking skills at my place. No hanky panky, I swear, unless you want it_.”

“I suppose if you don't give me food poisoning, that'll be a point in your column,” she teased, purposefully ignoring the other offer he'd put on the table, so to speak.

“ _I will have you know my friends and family find my cooking frequently excellent_ ,” he said with mock indignation, making Sansa laugh. “ _Do you have a pen and paper at hand_?”

“One sec,” Sansa muttered as she rifled through her bag, coming away with a pencil and a receipt scrap. “Okay, go.”

“ _894 High Heart Drive. It's up on Visenya's Hill, you just go south on Rose Avenue, take a right onto Artoria for two blocks and then turn left onto High Heart. I'm the sixth house on the left_.”

Sansa scribbled the directions onto the back of the receipt and decided not to tell Oberyn that she didn't have a car and would be relying on public transportation to get there from her place, which was a fifteen minute walk from the Street of Sisters. It'd take her another thirty minutes on the bus, depending on traffic, to make it near the intersection of Rose Avenue and Artoria. Then walk again. One thing was for certain, she would have to take care with her outfit and shoes. At least they were beginning to feel the cool snap of autumn and she hopefully wouldn't be arriving looking more than a little dewy.

“Got it. What time should I arrive?”

Oberyn sucked in a breath. “ _How about seven o' clock? Gives me enough time to go shopping after work and whip up a masterpiece_.”

She almost said 'it's a date!' but at the last minute changed it to: “That works. See you then.”

“ _I look forward to it, Sansa_.”

She ended the call first. Setting her phone down on the table, Sansa let out an enormous sigh and fanned her cheeks which were flushed and aching from all the smiling she'd done. If Oberyn already had this kind of effect on her, over the phone, how on earth was she going to survive tonight's date?

 

* * *

 

 

Inside his office in the Triangle, surrounded by a view of skyscrapers, Oberyn sat back in his chair. The last of his lunch sat untouched on his desk but he seemed to have lost his appetite, having too much to think about. It had been a brisk morning: he'd signed off on two motions, conducted a witness interview, and met with several of the firm's paralegals to go over their research on two cases and he'd just gone over his cross-examination questions for a trial next week. But at that moment, all Oberyn could think about was the woman who had just called him.

He hadn't thought he would be subject to the new Marriage Laws, not at thirty-nine years old. But, Oberyn supposed, older men would be accepted whereas older women would not- since the declining birth rate was one of the targets of the legislation. At first, he'd thought to fight it the best way he knew how- through the legal process. But, he mused, perhaps he was growing soft with age and wondering what it'd be like to be married, to do all those domestic, cutesy-couple things with someone else.

For five years, anyhow. Truth be told, it was the perfect way to try marriage on like a pair of trousers, see if it fit.

He'd always been a wanderer at heart. Oberyn had been a seasoned traveler by the time he entered university and even at the most prestigious school in Westeros- Citadel University- he'd had a hard time settling on a single major. In the end, he'd gotten four degrees before deciding to go to law school. When it came to personal relationships, Oberyn enjoyed lovers of various genders. Oftentimes within the parameters of an open relationship, and even when it was closed off there had always been a distance, a sense of nonpermanence.

By the time his first shrink appointment had rolled around, Oberyn had decided to go with the flow, to answer the questions honestly and seriously. See who he got.

 

_Genna Swyft_

_Sansa Stark_

_Daeron Hightower_

 

Sansa, however, was the most intriguing prospect of all, and not just because she was the only one to contact him so far. He truly hadn't been expecting her to call his personal mobile number to ask for a face-to-face meeting. Her accent had been crisp but even he could detect the Northern tones, and her contralto voice painted a picture of a mature, straightforward woman who knew what she wanted.

The only time she'd shown nerves was when he'd recommended meeting at the Myrish place. Then, Sansa's voice had gone flat as she requested something different. Oberyn was hardly going to begrudge her whatever reason she had for not wanting to go there. He couldn't help but feel like their brief conversation could have been so much more mechanical than it had been- after all, she had abused government resources in order to contact him. Oberyn hadn't been able to help flirting with her a bit even as he reassured her that he would expect nothing and force nothing. Interestingly enough, for someone who had made the first move, she hadn't been coy nor had she directly reacted to his implication that he wouldn't have sex with her tonight unless she asked for it.

If anything, she'd intimated that he had to prove he was up to scratch and _that_... Oberyn had always loved a good challenge.

As soon as Sansa had hung up, he'd called his friend in the private investigative business and asked for a rush on the information he'd requested on three people, Sansa now principal among them. The man got back to him with what he'd collected so far. What he finds out from the man's report leaves him hesitant about tonight's dinner.

Sansa Stark was twenty-two. Twenty-two. As in, born when he was just old enough to be her teenage dad. He'd been right about the accent: she was from Winterfell, born and bred. Second child and eldest daughter out of five. Overachiever who'd been her class valedictorian. Accepted a scholarship to FIR, where she'd proved to be an exemplary and visionary student and earned herself a job right out of college with one of the most prominent designers in the world.

Genna was thirty, which made him feel marginally better, and worked as a chemist in Lannisport. Oberyn took one look at her exorbitant credit card debt and said ' _no way in all seven hells_ '.

Daeron was closest to his age at thirty-five, and he lived in Oldtown where he worked as a recently tenured professor of economics. There was nothing more outstanding in his life, it seemed, than a speeding ticket he'd gotten once when he was nineteen. Surely they could possibly have lengthy conversations about all kinds of topics ranging from economics to politics to literature?

There were photos attached to each profile. Oberyn only bothered opening Sansa's. Sweet Mother, but she was gorgeous! A natural redhead with eyes a piercing shade of blue, and tall too. Leggy. Oberyn groaned and reclined in his chair, wondering what he could possibly be thinking by entertaining the notion of marrying her.

His phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. Accepting the call, Oberyn smirked as he held the phone up to his ear. "Afternoon, sunshine."

“ _Afternoon, old man_.”

Oberyn groaned. “Of all days for you to call me that, Willas...”

“ _Well, it's true, isn't it? I just flew back into the country and the first thing I see is a letter from the DMA_...”

“Ah, got yours, have you?” Oberyn said lightly, making his chair swivel from side to side. Willas sighed, making the line crackle faintly.

“ _You can say that again. I wonder if this is some kind of elaborate conspiracy dreamed up by my grandmother to punish me for not settling down years ago the way I 'ought to have_ '.”

Oberyn hummed. “Well, having met your grandmother, I don't think you're entirely off-base there. So, who did 'Olenna' see fit to match you with?”

“ _Myssa Manwoody, Allyria Dayne, and Sansa Stark_.”

That threw Oberyn for a loop. Trying to keep his voice steady and casual, he asked: “Know anything about any of them?”

“ _Not really. The only one I actually know is Sansa, because she's Margaery's friend_.” 

“Speaking of Margaery, I bet she's just loving this.”

“ _Well she hasn't shut up about the Marriage Laws for months now, so probably_.”

“Is Sansa a no-go, then?” 

“ _Shit, I don't know. I mean, she was eighteen the first time I met her and we never interacted for long. All I remember is that she was a sweet girl, rather shy and passive. Not very politically astute, which didn't impress Grandmother_.”

“Not much impresses Olenna, Willas.”

“ _True. But_...” Willas tsked. “ _She might be the sort that wants to fall in love and get married after school, you know, the usual fantasy women have. If neither of the other two women on my list pan out, I suppose I can guarantee her a comfortable life here in Highgarden._ ”

Oberyn gave a noncommittal hum. “It's interesting, because she's on my list, as well.”

Silence reigned on the other end of the line before Willas finally answers, his voice holding a note of surprise in it. “ _Huh, you and I aren't exactly alike even if we are friends. Makes you wonder what on earth the matchmakers found compatible with her_.”

“Who knows? Perhaps we'll find out soon.” Oberyn wasn't sure why he didn't just tell Willas that Sansa was coming over to his flat that evening. Could it be he was already feeling possessive over her? But if Willas' observations about her were correct...

“ _Yeah, who knows? Who else did you get, then_?”

“Ah, Genna Swyft and Daeron Hightower. I've already eliminated the former on financial grounds alone, but the latter is still in the running.”

“ _Well, here's to hoping this Daeron Hightower pans out, because I'm honestly not sure how you and a traditional girl like Sansa would ever be happy together, even if it's just for five years. With a kid, you'd still be stuck having to deal with one other_.”

Something about the comment bristled and Oberyn found himself making up an excuse to end the call. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before finally saying goodbye and Oberyn all but slammed his phone down onto his desk. Breathing deeply to calm himself down, he rested his chin on his interlocked hands and analyzed the conversation he'd just had. What he deduced was that his instincts were telling him something different about Sansa Stark than Willas had gleaned years ago.

Oberyn Martell was not a stupid man and he was not one for falling foolishly for another person. He would meet this Sansa Stark tonight and he would get her measure. Perhaps Willas was wrong about her. 

After all, Oberyn was just now admitting that Willas was probably wrong about him, too.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. SO. Because this is fucking Oberyn and Sansa we're talking about here, their first date went off more like a cyvasse match which is why I'm splitting it into two chapters. And fyi: Dothraki boots are basically cowgirl boots because I picture the Modern-verse Dothraki to be like motorcycle cowboys (Sons of Anarchy basically?)

After lunch, Sansa barely managed to get any work done on her personal project, which she had picked up in a last-ditch effort to take her mind off her date that night. Usually, applying herself to the task of taking her complex embroidery design from a plan to a reality helped to clear her mind of all worries for a few hours, but not today, it seemed. She was in luck, however; by mid-afternoon, she got a distraction in the form of a text from her sister, Arya.

 **3:09 PM:** _Robb n I r gunna run away 2 braavos wanna come? *_ boat emoji*

Internally, Sansa groaned. Arya purposefully used the worst grammar possible when texting because she knew how much it annoyed Sansa. At least she hadn't spelled 'come' as 'cum' this time.

 **3:10 PM:** _You know I'm not made out for the fugitive life. I'll deal. So you both got your letters?_

Robb had been loudly announcing to everyone he knew that he was absolutely not going to marry someone just because the government said so. Arya had been equally stubborn. Sansa wasn't about to tell either of them that she had a running bet with Bran and Rickon about which one would end up in detainment first.

 **3:10 PM:** _Yep_

Sansa couldn't well scold Arya for not being forthcoming when she was practically lying through her own teeth here.

 **3:11 PM:** _And you do know the MSA can subpoena your phone records and see from your text where you are going and how you plan on getting there?_

 **3:12 PM:** _Unless I'm lying to misdirect them. HAHA TAKE THAT MUTUAL DUCKERS_

 **3:12 PM:** _MOTHERFUCKERS_ , _FUCK SPELLCHECK_

 **3:13 PM:** _Well who did Robb get?_  Sansa stabbed at the keys in impatience.

 **3:19 PM:** _Myranda Royce, Roslin Frey, and idk Beth something or another._

 **3:20 PM:** _So he isn't even going to bother trying to get to know any of them? We do have three months._

 **3:20 PM:** _Nope. Who u get?_

 **3:24 PM:** _Idk yet. You?_

 **3:25 PM:** _Ugh all losers. Two Edrics and some guy named Gendry. I've already Facebook stalked them._

Before Sansa could tap out a reply, Arya sent her another message, clearly on a roll.

 **3:27 PM:** _Gendry takes pictures from that high angle, u know the one where he pulls up his shirt to show off his abs and duck lips. So gross._

 **3:29 PM:** _Maybe you could get them to fight you and the one who beats you wins your hand_ , Sansa supplied helpfully.

 **3:29 PM:** _Wins my hand??? what is this the third century???_

Sansa may (may!!) have a tiny addiction to historical romance novels.

 **3:30 PM:** _Shut up. What do mom and dad think?_

 **3:31 PM:** _You'd know if you answered mom's calls. You're lying about not getting your list yet, that's why you're hiding from mom._

Sansa let out a small scream of frustration, startling Lady, her part-direwolf. The poor animal- not even a few hours home from the vet and she had to put up with her human's personal drama. Knowing that she needed to give Arya something before she went jumping to conclusions that led to Sansa opening her door tomorrow night and finding her Super Concerned parents on the other side, she decided to throw out a partial truth. But before she could, her phone dinged with another message from her sister:

 **3:34 PM:** _Are your names that bad?_   Sansa could practically feel the worry rolling in from Arya's end.

 **3:35 PM:** _No! Two out of three I'm honestly considering. Just trying to process it and make lists._

 **3:36 PM:** _Ok. Cuz I still have that sword jon got for me. I'll cut a bitch if I have to._

Sansa was overcome by a wave of gratitude for her sister. They'd never gotten along growing up, neither of them able to see past their differences. Their fights had been loud and legendary, both girls always knowing exactly where to strike to make their verbal jabs hurt. Even their mother had barely been able to force the two of them to make peace. Somehow, over the past few years, her and Arya had forged a prickly sisterhood. 

 **3:38 PM:** _Thanks. Who did Jon get btw?_

 **3:29 PM:** _Nobody. Apparently you can be exempt if you're active duty military._ Sansa scoffed, her thumbs flying over the screen.

 **3:29 PM:** _Lucky bastard._

 **3:30 PM:** _I know right?_

 

Before she knew it, it was four o' clock and time for her to get ready if she were to leave the house by six as planned. Lady watched her, head cocked in bewilderment from her designated spot on the rug next to Sansa's bed as her human paced back and forth between the closet and the door that would lead to the bathroom, arguing with herself. Sansa wanted to pick out her outfit, but she also knew that she would probably take forever and she might as well be indecisive while her hair was drying.

It was just dinner.  _Dinner with the potential for sex_ , she reminded herself. Frowning in the shower stall as she began to lather up her hair, Sansa wondered if she should keep things from going in that direction at least for the first date. The last thing she wanted to do was have her sex-addled brain making a decision that overlooked any red flags.

But, she mused as she rinsed the shampoo out, wasn't there also an equal risk of having her lust-addled brain do the same?

She didn't even bother scolding herself for taking great care when shaving her legs. At the very least, it was a mental confidence booster to know her legs were silky smooth. She paused, still holding her razor, as she contemplated the state of her bush. Which at this point resembled a jungle. Or a wildfire.

She liked to tell herself she was bringing back the full-bush look that was popular forty years ago, but in all honesty, she was just too lazy and tired of the upkeep because even when she'd been going in to have it all waxed off on the regular, the men she was dating rarely seemed at all enthusiastic about going down on her. Or spending more than three minutes down there.

She resolutely put the razor down and shut off the faucet, wrapping a towel around her body and her hair before stepping out of the tub. She had three texts waiting for her on her phone when she returned to her room, and all three were from Oberyn. Sansa was surprised at her reaction when her first thought was that he was canceling dinner. Panic and disappointment made her chest tight before she swiped her thumb over the screen and entered her passcode. His messages followed:

 **4:15 PM:** _I forgot to ask if meat was ok_

 **4:16 PM:** _For that matter, do you have food allergies?_

 **4:25 PM:** _Is wine ok?_

She giggled.

 **4:29 PM:**   _Sorry, was in the shower. But yes, no, very much yes_.

 **4:31 PM:** * _winky face emoji* Good to know._

It'd been a while since she felt this way- overwhelmed by the heady anticipation of a date and open to all the inherent possibilities. She'd always been a driven student, popular, and just wise enough to resist adult encouragement to go to a non-specialized university. But for all that, she'd still fallen for Joffrey Baratheon. FIR had a campus in Oldtown, and that had been where Sansa had chosen to live and study rather than in the more popular and populous Highgarden. When he had told her he was a student at one of the prestigious colleges that made up Citadel University, Sansa had been terribly impressed.

He'd been charming, at first, and handsome (in her defense, she had been way into the skinny boy-band look when she was eighteen). It'd taken her too long to notice how controlling he was and the embarrassment about how he behaved around some of her new university friends had her spending less time with  _them_ rather than  _him_. The money had seduced her, too; she could be honest about that. All her dreams about going South had seemed to manifest in the things Joffrey could access. He came from a very wealthy family, you see, and it was nothing for him to whisk her away on a small plane ride to King's Landing for a weekend. She was a real woman now! So sophisticated! Seeing the world!

That had been how she'd rationalized his roughness-the first bruises he'd left on her body. The vicious words that could be leveled her way when he was in one of his moods. Sansa had been terribly self-conscious of Joffrey's position in Oldtown, of how visible he was and therefore, by extension, how visible  _she_  was, too. She had abhorred the very thought of anyone knowing what was happening to her. In hindsight, Sansa realized that a lot of the people she'd called 'friend' through Joffrey had probably known on some level that he was abusive, they'd just chosen to look the other way.

She'd disappeared into herself entirely during those two years, wholly focused on her studies and trying to please Joffrey so things wouldn't be as bad as they could get. Not that it mattered because the spring of her sophomore year, he put her in the hospital. There was no question what had happened to her, and the nurses and doctors had whispered the dreaded words Sansa had gone to great lengths to avoid until that point:  _intimate partner violence_. Her parents were called and...

To this day, she wasn't sure what her parents had done that had forced Joffrey to leave her alone. Oh, he was rich and connected enough that pressing charges wasn't an option, but she had spent so many weeks and months afterwards absolutely petrified that he would come after her. In a way, the end of the war was a blessing because Joffrey's family had supported the losing side. Sansa figured he'd had bigger things to worry about than getting back at an ex-girlfriend. Her parents had begged her to move back to Winterfell. (“ _Just to recuperate, sweetie. You can decide where to go from there_.”)

But Sansa had been adamant. She had been filled with disgust once her family knew, and it had been impossible to maintain the cocoon of numbness she'd built up around Robb's barely restrained rage, her mother's constant attempts to reach out to comfort her only to have Sansa flinch away, or the worry in her younger siblings' eyes. As if she were a fine porcelain vase that they expected to shatter before their very eyes.

_What was wrong with her, that she would allow this to happen to her? How weak was she?_

Oldtown held way too many demons for her, but she didn't want to abandon her spot at the university itself, so she had merely relocated to the main campus three hours away. What she hated Joffrey for, more than the scars, was the way he had destroyed her sense of wonder and trust. She'd dated during the last two years of her degree but she had quickly realized she couldn't let her walls down enough to let someone close.

Instead, she'd embarked on what she liked to refer to as her 'sexual awakening'. What it really had been was nothing more than a series of hookups in a halfhearted attempt to fill a void and find a few things she'd been missing. Because she, like many women her age, was horny and curious. Joffrey had done absolutely nothing on par with the steamy sex scenes in the novels she liked to read, or the adventurous and toe-curling sex stories her new friends in Highgarden whispered lasciviously about after several shots of cheap-ass, turpentine-quality vodka.

The agitated clanging of her next-door neighbor's wind chimes through the open window shook Sansa from her trance. The breeze was kicking up outside, heralding the storm rolling in with the dark clouds on the horizon. She could feel it in the air: the thickness of the humidity from the south barely undercut by the bite of chill blowing in from the sea. Sansa allowed herself a minute to stand before the window, to close her eyes and revel in the power of the oncoming storm.

She didn't fear it, she _didn't_ ; she merely made a mental note to stuff an umbrella into her bag.

Sansa eventually settled on a black long-sleeved maxi dress she'd made herself with a muted red and gold floral pattern. She had designed it to be wrap-style but she'd also curved the pattern of the skirt so both ends parted just above her knee before lengthening to hit her ankle at the back, which she thought Oberyn would find appealing. With it, she wore a pair of light brown Dothraki boots she'd found one Market Sunday in Flea Bottom. A light blue jean jacket was stuffed into her bag along with her umbrella, her usual purse contents, and condoms. 

Best to always be prepared.

Her stomach was a ball of nerves the entire walk to the bus stop, which only worsened as the bus route was forced to take a detour around construction sites. King's Landing had been the target for riots and bombings during both wars and all people in the capitol- citizens and tourists alike- had to endure the costs of reconstruction. 

Thunder boomed in the distance, making the other passengers fidget uneasily, as they neared the stop at Rose Avenue and Artoria. If she peered out her window, Sansa could see the distinctive architecture that marked the Great Sept of Baelor, which had stood on the hill for centuries, having been rebuilt thrice. Between the time of the day and the storm clouds overtaking the sky, it was just dark enough for the gleaming lights of Valyria Avenue to be seen further up the hill. Sansa had occasionally wandered in and out the shops there even though virtually everything, even the water, was out of her price range because the boutiques there were the most famous throughout the country and even the world. The downside of getting off here was that Artoria street was on a steep incline and Sansa would have to make an uphill hike for two blocks before she reached the intersection leading onto Oberyn's street. 

Of course, because she had the worst luck, the skies opened up before she even made it a block away from the bus stop. Sansa paused for a moment and sighed as the deluge washed over her, not rushing to pull out her umbrella because she knew it would make little difference with the wind blowing the rain practically sideways. She clung to the thin metal rod and tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she waited on traffic to come to a stop at High Heart Drive so she could cross the street. The roar of water hitting pavement drowned out the distant sense of anxiety in her gut. 

If this were two years ago, Sansa would be having a small meltdown by now at the thought of meeting a man like Oberyn looking like a drowned rat. Maybe it was something of the same sentiment that had led her to put her razor down before she touched her pubic hair: if this lack of perfection was enough to put him off her, then he wasn't worth it anyways. No matter how much a part of her desperately wished he would be.

Sansa even allowed herself to laugh a little as she scurried across the intersection and made her way along High Heart Drive, counting off the house numbers until she made it to number 894. She studied it as she headed up the walkway towards the front door. Oberyn's home had one level from the front, but, being built on an incline, it would have a second level towards the backyard. Sansa was hardly an expert, but the style struck her as a Mid-Seventh Remodel: reddish terracotta roofing, sandstone colored siding, and large windows.

She shivered even as she took a deep, steadying breath and rang the doorbell, heart hammering in her ribcage. If she had tried knocking, she was sure the rhythm would match a jackhammer. Closing her umbrella, she set it against the wooden chair nearest to the door. Looking back, she saw the dark clouds swallow the last bit of pale sky.  Lightning flashed and Sansa counted:  _one...two...three...four..._

Thunder boomed and she nodded. The storm was less than a mile away now. Wouldn't be long before it overtook-

There was a click behind her as the door opened and a deep voice exclaimed: "Sansa!"

She spun back around and at last faced Oberyn Martell. The pictures definitely did not do him justice, Sansa realized. He was perhaps a scant two inches taller than her, with lean muscles barely camouflaged by a lightweight black sweater and casual jeans. His dark hair had a bent to it that prevented it from being straight despite its short length. Oberyn's features were angular and sharp, his nose slightly hooked which did nothing to mar his handsomeness. His warm Rhoynish eyes twinkled at  her as his lip curled to one side, framed by a moustache and sparse beard.

Sansa felt like he had catalogued every last drop of water on her skin by the time she burst out with a breathless "hello!"

He continued to grin at her as she stood there, but as if shaking himself from a trance, his face morphed into a frown. "Look at me, staring at you like a fool when I should be inviting you inside where it's warm and dry. Come in, come in." 

Oberyn ushered her past him through the door. Just being in his presence was potent: it was different from seeing a two-dimensional photo on a computer screen or hearing his voice over the phone. The very real pressure of his hand on her upper arm guided her into an airy foyer. Through a door further to her right, Sansa spotted a desk and wall-to-wall bookshelves. His study, most likely. 

"I'm dripping water all over your floor," Sansa said, mortified. To his credit, Oberyn only pish-poshed at her concern.

"Don't worry about it. It's just water, after all. And you, my dear, are absolutely soaked through." He said the last as a statement of fact, without a hint of a leer. "How about I grab a dry set of clothes for you to change into?"

Sansa loved her dress, but she was uncomfortable and shivering- waiting for everything to dry on her body wasn't exactly an option. So much for all the effort she took to choose an outfit. "That sounds lovely, thank you."

"Think nothing of it." She followed behind him as he led her through a door to the left of the foyer. Sansa paused at the threshold, not wanting to leave that much of a puddle trail, and studied what was obviously the master bedroom. She found the decor pleasantly masculine, the bed a mix of coppery brown and golds. And the windows, she marveled at how they ran from floor to ceiling, giving them a view of the hill and a good swath of the city below.

It was fairly dark in Oberyn's bedroom, courtesy of the weather, but even then she could discern the outline of his broad shoulders as he bent over a dresser drawer and pulled out several items. She was slow backing away into the light as he approached, holding out a navy colored shirt and a pair of terry sweatpants- dark gray shot through with lighter gray- that she recognized from fashion magazines a year ago. "Here. I don't exactly have women's clothes on hand, but these ought to fit," he offered.

"They'll do, I'm sure," Sansa told him. "The bathroom's..."

"Over there." Oberyn pointed to the door next to the master bedroom. "And the laundry room is across from that, so you can leave your wet clothes there and then head down the stairs to the kitchen. I'm just finishing up dinner, so it shan't be long before you've got something warm and filling in you."

Sansa smiled back at him and let that smile freeze on her face even as he turned and headed towards said stairs. Tilting her head, she wondered if he had meant that to sound as suggestive as she'd taken it. Cheeks warm, she ducked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her before peeling the sodden dress from her body. The whirlwind of the past few minutes was catching up with her and she had to press her hands to her face in an effort to calm herself down. She was here, this was really happening.

Sansa contemplated the state of her bra and panties before accepting that both had absorbed too much rainwater and removed them. This of course meant that there was nothing between her skin and Oberyn's clothes. They smelled pleasantly of detergent and she let out a small hum of happiness at the sensation of soft cotton. The shirt, she was chagrined to note, was an official Citadel University tee. 

Exiting the bathroom, Sansa headed over to the laundry room and decided to go ahead and put her wet clothes in the dryer, setting the machine for 'delicates' rather than leave it to Oberyn's questionable judgment. Once that was done, Sansa exhaled and stepped out towards the railing overlooking the lower level of the house. From her vantage point, she could make out the dining room table and a portion of the kitchen. 

 _This either works, or it doesn't_ , she reminded herself. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Sansa headed downstairs.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Oberyn made it back into his kitchen, he exhaled heavily, barely able to focus on any of the tasks left in the recipe. He'd heard the thunder outside, the cacophony of rain on the patio and windows, but he'd been rushing around the kitchen trying to get the meal going before she was expected to arrive and so he hadn't paid the weather much mind. 

Until he was opening the door to see Sansa standing there, hair turned a darker crimson from the rain and her dress utterly plastered to every curve. Between the rise and fall of her chest, and the quick smile she'd given him, Oberyn had been dumbstruck. For the hundredth time that day, he wondered where he got off thinking he could possibly marry a twenty-two year old woman.

He'd called Ellaria while he was browsing through the produce section of his local grocery, ostensibly to check in on his passel of nieces. Ellaria and her wife were always off traveling, it seemed, but this year they were back in Dorne.

 

 

“Tell me I'm not a dirty old man,” he'd begged her, making the elderly woman next to him abandon her hunt for the perfect tomato. He had only shrugged unrepentantly at the dirty look she shot him.

“ _But you are a dirty old man, Oberyn. You're just a still attractive one at that_.”

“That's not very reassuring, Ellaria.” He'd been best friends with Ellaria Uller for nearly fifteen years. If there was anyone he could count on to put things in perspective, it was her.

“ _Where is this coming from_?” She'd asked.

“Willas. Our letters. The twenty-two year old coming to my place for dinner tonight that I might marry.”

“ _Twenty-two_?” Ellaria had cackled gleefully. “ _My, my that's going to either be very impressive or a complete disaster. Pictures, now_.” He had heard her snapping her fingers near the speaker. “ _And don't tell me you haven't already had her checked out_.”

Oberyn had sighed and attached one of the pictures to the next message he sent Ellaria, not even bothering to confirm or refute her claim. She'd whistled as soon as she received Sansa's picture. “ _I can see why you contacted her_.”

“ _She_ contacted _me_ ,” Oberyn had corrected her. “And she still hasn't been in touch with Willas, who is also on her list.”

Ellaria had hummed thoughtfully. “ _Hm. If she was matched with you two, she must be very intriguing, indeed_.”

“You're not being very helpful.”

That'd got him a loud huff of frustration that crackled across the line. “ _What is it you want from me? You're very handsome and you keep that nice body of yours in fit condition. You're passionate and still, from what I hear, a very good lover. Trust your instincts and make a honest effort to get to know her. Besides, twenty-two is hardly a child. I remember myself at twenty-two_ ,” she near purred.

“I remember you at twenty-two very fondly, Ells.”

“ _Hmph. Honest effort, sweetheart. Dorea worries that her Uncle Obie is lonely_.”

“She does n-” The loud click told him that Ellaria hadn't cared to hear his futile protests.

 

 

 

 

Back in his kitchen, Oberyn resolved to put aside all his concerns and instead focus on having a nice dinner with Sansa. He had always been a confident flirt, so hopefully that wouldn't fail him tonight. He _was_ immensely curious about the woman he was matched to. Oberyn spotted movement out the corner of his eye and turned to watch Sansa pad down the stairs, re-braiding her hair as she went. "Hey," she murmured. 

"Hey there. Better now?" He asked.

"Much." She nodded, tying off the end of the braid with a hair tie. "Thanks again for the clothes. They actually fit quite well." That they did, though he could privately admit that the way the terry pants were snug around her hips and thighs and the telltale lack of bra under his shirt was doing more for him than that lovely dress she'd been wearing- dry or wet.

"That I can see," he drawled, flipping the last piece of chicken in the skillet. "I didn't notice a car in my driveway."

Sansa wandered past the kitchen island and stared out the glass windows to the patio and the city below. "Oh, I don't have a car with me here. I left my old one back home in Winterfell for my younger siblings to use." She turned away from the windows and his throat tightened. "Truth be told, I could easily afford to buy another car, but I rather enjoy the availability of public transportation here."

He chuckled, lifting the lid off the pot on the stove and giving the gently bubbling sauce and potatoes a stir. "Well, the capitol does a fair job of making the city accessible, I'll give it that."

"Ever so reluctantly."  One eyebrow rose.

"Well, yes." Oberyn might live here and practice law here, but there was just as much to dislike about King's Landing as there was to appreciate. 

"That smells good. What are you making?"

"A Dornish specialty," he proclaimed, sweeping his arm over the stovetop. "Chicken and potatoes in a red sauce made with tomatoes, eggplant, garlic, onions, and copious amounts of paprika."

"Sounds perfect for the weather." She rested her hip against the island. Oberyn had seen the pictures sent him, but that didn't compare to the reality of her presence. She was tall, hardly skinny,  and oh, so careful when it came to personal space. He wanted to tangle his fingers in the dampness of her red hair.

"That it does," he said. "Wine?"

"Don't mind if I do."

He poured them both a glass of the red he'd bought earlier.  “Why don't you head into the living room and we can chat once I've got the chicken in the sauce?”

“I'm not about to argue with the chef,” Sansa said winsomely before turning to saunter into the living room. His eyes followed her as she started to examine the books he had on his bookcase. Once all the chicken was immersed in the sauce, Oberyn tossed his kitchen rag onto the counter and made for the l-sectional couch resting against the opposite wall. He dropped down onto a center cushion and extended his arms along the back so that he could observe the proprietary manner with which Sansa was making her way around his space. She would lightly stroke the spines of his books, and the image sent a frisson of something, he didn't know exactly what, down his own spine. Pleasure? Satisfaction?

It wasn't that she was marking his things, no. Rather, he suspected she was judging him based on what she found. He took a sip from the wineglass cupped in his hand as Sansa paused before the photos along a wall.  "These are gorgeous. Did you take them yourself?"

"Some of them, yes. The rest are courtesy of my friends who have a better eye than I."

"I had a friend who took amazing photographs. She had a way of capturing the quality of a person or a place. A moment,” she murmured distractedly.

"She sounds talented." Oberyn hadn't missed the past tense.

"She passed away a while back," Sansa explained, voice taking on a flat affect.

"I'm sorry."

Sansa said nothing to that, not that there was anything more one could say except to change the subject.

“I truly meant it when I said your call this morning was an unexpected surprise,” Oberyn told her.

She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “A good one, I hope.”

“Very,” he purred. “I have to ask, why so soon after your letter arrived?”

She paused thoughtfully, pursing her lips before she answered. “I suppose if we must, then I don't want to drag it out and deal with copious opinions from my family and friends about who I ought to choose.”

“You'd rather present your marriage as fait accompli,” Oberyn concluded, impressed.

“Well, yes,” Sansa said wryly, throwing his own words back at him with what was most certainly a challenging glint in those blue eyes. He conceded the point, albeit bemusedly.

“You know what they say...it's better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.”

“Nailed it in one.”

“Am I truly so objectionable?” He mock pouted.

“To me? No.” Well that was a relief. “To my parents and siblings? I think your age more than anything would make them uncomfortable. But you _do_ have a reputation.”

“A good one, I hope.” Oberyn stood up, setting his wineglass down on the coffee table and sliding his hands into his jean pockets as he slowly stepped closer to where Sansa stood in front of the bookcase. Gods' blood, it was such a pleasure to spar with her like this! Sansa gave him an enigmatic smile, watching his approach carefully.

“You're a brilliant lawyer, which makes for plenty of enemies. That alone would make any parent uneasy, I should think. But I also think you are ruthless when you destroy the guilty. Whether that is a good or bad thing is a matter of perspective.”

His voice is thick when he asks her, “and how do you find it, Sansa?” Their bodies were so close now, he could feel the heat emanating between them.

Something wild flashed in Sansa's eyes then- something feral- and her nostrils flared with naked rage. Oberyn had certainly noticed how guarded Sansa was with her reactions but it wasn't until now when he saw that facade crack that he realized just how skilled she was at keeping up that poker face and it shook him to his core as well as made blood rush to his cock. _There you are_! Looked like Willas had been wrong, after all.

“Very appealing.” Sansa answered him so lowly and so quietly her voice was a rasp in the thick silence of the room.

She broke eye contact first, ducking her head down and giving him her shoulder as she turned to look at more photographs along his wall. Oberyn took the hint. Sansa was clearly very used to being able to control herself and the conversation that losing that ability had her retreating. He wasn't such a bastard that he wouldn't pay attention to his instincts telling him when to back off and when to press the matter.

 _Intriguing little creature_! Oberyn thought.

“All the same, I would think you'd at least want to find some semblance of love in this whole arrangement.”

Sansa remained silent for several long moments, not even looking at him when she spoke. “No matter who I end up marrying, my life is going to change, and I _hate_ this feeling of uncertainty. I'd like to think if I approach this arranged marriage frankly, then it won't make any difference to only take a week or two rather than months make a decision.” _Such a candid attitude to have for one so young._

“So you think that taking an academic view will yield a better result than allowing things to develop organically? I would argue that such a passionless approach wouldn't be as cut and dried as you would hope.” He remained several feet away from her as he said this. He was sorely hoping he wouldn't be disappointed here.

Sansa took a slow sip of her wine. “I never said it had to be passionless," her tongue darted out, collecting a droplet of wine along the edge of her bottom lip. "Simply that we don't have the luxury of falling madly in love and then waiting until after we tie the knot to finally get around to finding out the important things about each other that would make a difference in whether our marriage would be happy or miserable.” The scorn with which she spat out the phrase 'madly in love' had Oberyn lounging against the corner of the bookcase.

“You sound like you're speaking from experience about love clouding things.”

“I am,” she said simply.

“Very well. I agree with you in principle, by the way.” He inclined his head.

Sansa said nothing to that, just continued to look at the pictures. "Are those the Olympics?"

He grinned, sliding a bit closer to peer at the same photo. "Yes. I fenced competitively, won gold at Selhorys '16 and Harrenhal '20 before I turned to coaching."

"Are those your students?"

He nodded, reaching over to point at each woman in the picture. "That's Obara on the left, scowling at the camera. Sarella is next to her. Then the blonde is Tyene and the smirking one is Nymeria. They all came from foster homes and between my brother and mine's charitable endeavors, we were able to secure funding to support their training and send them to competitions."

“That's amazing,” she said wistfully. “The only thing I ever played competitively was volleyball before university.”

“Did you? And were you any good?”

“I was, actually,” she said honestly, blushing as if embarrassed by her lack of modesty. “I like winning.”

“What do you know, so do I. Perhaps we ought to play a few board games to see if we're truly compatible.” The mental image was strangely appealing.

“Now you're mocking me.”

“I'm serious. Words alone aren't going to tell us everything. Perhaps we just need to have a go at each other over the Monopoly board to really test each other's mettle.”

“Nobody will play Monopoly with me anymore,” Sansa said sharply.

“Maybe you just need a better opponent.”

“Maybe.”

“This is good!” He rocked back and forth on his heels, grinning at her. “Hit me with more of these questions, since we're being academic here.”

She shot him a withering glare that only made him grin even wider. “Fine,” she said archly. “Toilet roll over or under?”

He sighed. “ _That's_ pertinent? Really?”

Sansa fought, and failed, to suppress a grin, softening her face. Oberyn was already enamored. “Couples argue over that all the time, so yes.”

“I honestly could care less, sweetheart.” Her pupils widened at the endearment and it was Oberyn's turn to hide a grin. “Next.”

“Children?

“You mean do I have any?”

“Yes.”

“Not exactly. I donated genetic material to my friend Ellaria and her wife to use for in-vitro fertilization. I have four gorgeous little nieces who are an absolute handful. And you?” She didn't seem disappointed at that revelation, which was an utter relief to him. 

“No children yet. I do have a part-direwolf named Lady, though.”

“A gentle name for such a ferocious beast,” he remarked.

“That depends on whether you buy into preconceptions.”

“About direwolves?”

“About ladies, too.”

 

 

The timer dinged.

 

 


End file.
